#the first bit up there was from yesterday btw the second canvas is from today where i tried to be a little more accurate to the skeleton | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mistersshelby · 4 years

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Could you write a story where the reader works for Tommy perhaps as a secretary or sth like that and they don’t spend sonmuch time together (slow burn romance) and one day he discovers that she’s a painter and maybe goes through her drawings and ask her to paint sth. And then they finally spend some time together and it’s pretty intense. I just wish them to secretly be into each other but it all happens when they spend some time together. Btw LOVE YOUR WRITING! xxx sending love!!!

here you go love!! hope you like it!!

warnings: smut

questions, comments, concerns

masterlist

Your friends all thought you were mad when you announced you’d be working for the Shelbys. You wanna wind up dead in a ditch somewhere? They said, Those gypsy bastards have no morals!

But you would just shrug, Sounds like an adventure. You’d always reply and throw them a wink. It drove them insane. In truth, after meeting with the Shelbys, you weren’t particularly afraid of them. The way you saw it, as long as you were nice to them and didn’t betray them, you could keep your life. It seemed a fair deal to you.

So you went to work every day and kept to yourself. No one really noticed you, sometimes you’d drop completed paperwork off at people’s desks quietly and they’d never notice. You didn’t really mind. Since no one paid you much attention, it gave you time at work to paint when you were alone in your office and had finished all your work.

But one day, Tommy walked in on you. “What’s this?”

You nearly knocked over your paint from the surprise, “Mister Shelby! I-- I, uh, I finished my work, and I was just, um--”

“Painting.” He finished for you.

“I, yeah,” You sighed, “I’m sorry, I’ll clean this up. Did you need something?”

He scans the painting you were working on, a snapshot of a field of wildflowers he recognized from the outskirts of Birmingham, “Yeah, I was coming to see if you finished the paperwork I gave you this morning.”

You nodded, “Yeah, I dropped it on your desk hours ago.”

He looks up at that, “I didn’t see you.”

You shrug, “Wouldn’t be the first time.” You curse yourself for your insolent tone, “Sorry! I just meant that, um, nobody here typically notices me.”

He looks back at your painting, “You’re quite good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He starts to back out of the room, “As long as you’re finishing your work, I don’t mind the painting.”

“Oh, um, thank you, sir.” But he’s already gone.

You collapse back into your chair, loosing a breath of relief. And then you chuckle, “Tommy Shelby thinks my painting’s good!” You shake your head at the ridiculousness of it, and then go back to your painting.

***

After that, Tommy started visiting your office more often. He memorized your schedule, knowing by the time lunch rolled around you were typically already done with your day’s work and about to start painting. He noticed when you dropped paperwork off at his desk now, still not looking up from his work, but murmuring his thanks before you moved on. He asked you to call him Tommy.

Dare you say it, but you think you and Tommy were beginning to become friends. “Still working on the same painting from yesterday?” He said one day, tossing you an apple as he walked in. He would bring you snacks some days, you found it sweet.

You bit into the crisp apple, “I’m shit at portraits.” You said, staring at the painting you had made of King George and his wife Mary.

He looked over your shoulder and you found yourself holding your breath at his closeness, “I don’t see what you see. It looks fantastic to me.”

You finally sigh, “You always say that.”

He chuckles in your ear and you ignore the chill down the back of your neck as he steps away, “I want you to paint something for me.”

You frown, “Really? What?”

“Could you paint Charles and I? Grace and I had something done, before, well, before--”

“I understand, Tommy.” You said, wanting to spare him the pain of having to recount that Grace was gone now and he wanted something of him and his son, “I’ll do it.

His face lights up, allowing you one of his rare smiles, “Really? Could you come this weekend? Saturday morning? I’ll compensate you for your time--”

You cut him off with the shake of your head, “I barely do work here anymore, all I do is paint. And you still pay me. You’ve done enough for me, this’ll be a gift.”

He nods, “Okay, it’s a deal then. I’ll see you Saturday.”

You grin, “See you Saturday, Tommy.”

***

Tommy helped you set up everything exactly as you wanted. Tommy sat in a seat, dressed in his best suit and Charles stood next to him, Tommy putting a hand on his shoulder. And then you began. Tommy’s eyes never really left you, except when Charles asked a question or two. Eventually you told him you had the picture in your head and Charles could go if he wanted. Once he left the room and it was just you and Tommy, you felt weirdly vulnerable.

You had never been so entirely alone with him before and it made your pulse jump. But not from fear, as your friends would probably expect, but excitement.

“When did you start painting?” He asks.

You peer around the canvas at him, “My mum used to paint, day and night. I wanted to be just like her so I started painting I think when I was about four or five. Haven’t stopped since.” You stopped painting and scrutinized what you had finished so far. The sun was beginning to set and you’d have to quit soon. You had gotten down Charles’s outline and had mostly worked on Tommy’s face for the rest of the day.

“I know that look.” Tommy said and pulled you out of your reverie.

“What?” You asked.

“You don’t like what you’ve painted so far.”

You sigh, “It’s not awful, I guess, but… your eyes, I can’t get them just right.”

He comes around to look himself, standing just over your shoulder the way he always does, his breath tickling your neck, “You made me look… regal. Like I’m someone important.”

You smile and turn to him, his face now entirely too close to yours, “Well, you are, aren’t you? I just paint what I see.”

He searches your eyes and you don’t miss the way they stray to your mouth, “You think entirely too much of me.”

“Or you think too little of yourself.”

“I think you think too little of yourself,” He counters.

“Then I guess we’re even.”

He smirks and then leans away from you and the bubble you two had created around you seems to burst. You realize as he walks away from you that you wanted desperately for him to kiss you.

“I guess I should be going now, then. I’ll be back next Saturday.”

“You can stay for dinner, if you’d like.” He sounds disinterested, as if his mind is already elsewhere.

You don’t know why it hurts you, but your heart aches all the same when it feels like you imagined whatever chemistry had been between you. “That’s alright, I’ve been here all day, I’ll get out of your hair.” You force a smile and gather up your things, “I’ll see you Monday, Mister Shelby.”

He takes a second, confused look at you at the formality, but you pretend not to notice and he walks you to the door, “See you Monday, Y/N.”

***

Tommy wonders by midweek why you’re seemingly acting so cold to him since Saturday, he can’t figure out what he’s done wrong. But you’re back to referring to him as “Mister Shelby” and “sir” and it feels like an insult.

“Did I say something to upset you?” He asks on Wednesday after you took the chocolate he had brought you today and set it down without touching it.

“What would make you think that?” You ask, refusing to make eye contact with him even though you can feel his stare baring holes into you.

“You don’t call me Tommy anymore, for one. For two, that’s your favorite chocolate and you acted like I’d handed you a head of lettuce.”

You glance down at the chocolate and lie, “I’m just not hungry. Had a big lunch.” You sigh when you feel him continuing to stare at you, “I just thought that… we shouldn’t forget our relationship to each other. You’re still my employer.”

“Do you hear the way the rest of my employees speak to me?”

You finally place your paint brush down into the cup of water you have on your desk and look at him, “I just like to be professional.”

He shakes his head, “You really think you can lie to me?” Before you can say anything he turns away from you, “I thought we were friends.”

You sigh, “Tommy, wait.” He pauses and turns back to you at the sound of his name, “We are friends, I just-- Can we just forget it, I was being stupid, I’ll call you Tommy again.”

He looks you over, seemingly trying to see what you’re hiding from him, but gives up, “I went through a lot of trouble to find that chocolate today.” He says instead.

Your mouth twitches into the barest of smiles, “Thank you.” You say and then tear it open to take a bite, “Happy now?”

He gives you a small smile and nods before leaving the room.

***

Painting Tommy and Charles on Saturday was making you incredibly anxious. Your heart jumped every time you peered around the canvas to see him staring at you. You worked on Charles again for most of the morning before you told him he could go play, and then it was just you and Tommy.

“You look like something’s bothering you.” He says after minutes of agonizing silence.

“I’m fine.” You immediately dismissed, “Tell me a story.”

“I only know sad stories.”

“That’s alright.”

And so for the next few hours he told you all about the war, finding Grace, her betrayal, losing Grace, finding her again, and then losing her one last time, for good. She could hear in his voice that she was his soulmate and she felt so stupid for being angry at him last week. He needed a friend right now, not a lover.

You were silent for a while after he stopped talking, “I’m sorry about last week. I-- I dunno what I was thinking.” Without being able to see him behind the canvas, you feel a bit brave, “I was stupid, I misinterpreted the way you were looking at me and I guess I just thought--” You chuckle nervously to hide how uncomfortable you are, “Anyway, it was stupid and I’m sorry.” You clear your throat when he doesn’t say anything, “It’s finished, if you’d like to look.”

You hear the sound of him rising from the chair and rub a hand on the back of your neck nervously as he approaches, “It’s perfect,” He says finally and your shoulders droop in relief, “This is what I look like to you, then?”

You wipe your hands on a damp rag Tommy had given you and nodded, you decide to continue being honest, “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and I wanted to do you justice.”

He crooks a finger under your chin and gently turns your face to look at him, “You didn’t misinterpret anything.” He says softly and your heart speeds up as he leans his face close to yours until your lips touch. You twine your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss and before you know it, you’re on the floor, Tommy crawling over you and pressing kisses at any bit of skin he can reach. He pushes your skirts up, nearly ripping a hole in your tights trying to get them off you and then his head disappears between your legs.

Your back arches, your breath growing heavy as his tongue makes quick work of you and when his fingers slide inside you it only takes a few more flicks and pumps before you finish. Breathing hard and still riding the high from your orgasm, you pull Tommy to you when he pulls his head out from beneath your skirts, looking quite pleased with himself.

He pulls you up into his lap so you straddle his hips and pulls your dress down so it sits around your waist. You fight the urge to cover yourself with your arms and instead drink in his hungry stare. His calluses feel rough against the soft skin of your bare back and he kisses down your chest, and then back up to your neck again. Finally, he slips inside you and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips when he fills you up.

He lays you down on the floor again, hovering above you as you wrap your legs around his torso, your nails digging into his back. It feels like it’s over far too quickly. He rolls off you and you watch the way both your chests heave as you recover. You roll on your side to face him, your dress still pooled at your waist, “Did that… Did that mean anything to you? Or was I just a quick fuck?”

He looks at you and lifts his hand to lightly caress your cheek with his thumb, “I don’t know.” He says finally, “I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

You roll back onto your back and stare at the ceiling. You tried not to let his words sting you, but they did just the same. He rolls onto his side now to look at you, “Hey… You’re amazing, you know? Deserve much better than me--”

“It’s fine, Tommy, please. I don’t need your pity. You still love your wife, I understand.” You sit up and pull your dress up to cover yourself again, “Could you, um, button my back.” You felt embarrassed even asking, but he did it for you without complaint. “Your wife was really lucky, Tommy.” You turn to him and bring a hand to his cheek, swallowing past the lump in your throat, “I know you don’t think you deserved her, or that you deserve anyone, but you do. You’re wonderful and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He takes your hand in his own and kisses your knuckles, “Thank you.” He murmurs, but you know he doesn’t believe you. And with that, you pull on your tights, gather your things and leave. You lie awake that night thinking of Tommy, wondering if he’ll ever love anyone who’s not Grace again.

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